Savage Row - Britney King Page 0,1

he had when he was a kid. His mother’s crime shows display on the reels. He hates television, but if he has to watch, Theo much prefers the programs about saving the children, sometimes animals too—although those make him feel particularly desolate. At least children can talk. But now there is a glimmer of something. Not quite gratitude, but a seed of hopefulness, as though his mother and the television had been preparing him all along. If you want to save anything, it’s helpful to know what you’re up against. The world is a terrible place, she says, like clockwork, at the start of one of her programs. A terrible, terrible place.

A faint cry takes him away from his swirling thoughts, away from the bloodbath. He can feel the man’s vacant eyes stare back at him, leaving an unsettled feeling in his belly. Theo uses the tips of his gloved fingers to close the man’s eyes the way he’s seen on his mother’s shows. Then he pushes himself upright, and though his feet stick to the floor, he pushes onward. Maybe he couldn’t save all those children, on all those nights, on all those programs. But maybe he can save these.

He has to. Theo likes the family that lives in this house. He is especially fond of the youngest daughter. The older girl has her moments, but she can’t help it. She’s already been hardened to the world. She looks at Theo like most everyone does, as something other, a specimen to be handled carefully, something to keep at a distance.

Theo never let that stop him. He tried to be respectful. What he loved most of all were the times she didn’t know he was looking. The times no one noticed he was watching, not even his mother. Out their rear window, which faced the family’s yard, he’d watch the older girl as she played. It was one of the few times she let her guard down. He loved the girls’ giggles, the push and pull of it, the games they played. Sometimes he’d join in, imagining himself with them, showing them how much fun he could be when he let go of the bad thoughts.

He wanted to tell them about the old woman at the hospital with the sour breath and scruffy voice. He wanted to warn them about all the bad things that could happen, and sometimes, even though he wasn’t supposed to, he did.

Now he realizes he should have told them more. He takes each step carefully, pausing halfway up the stairs. The girls are weeping. He can hear it down the hallway. He hears their mother, speaking hurriedly, reasoning, pleading: Whatever you want—whatever—anything — I’ll give it to you. If it’s money you need, I have a little. You can take it all. But please. Please don’t—they’re just children.

Chapter One

THREE WEEKS EARLIER

Thursday, November 19th

10:02 p.m.

God, it feels good. Not vacation sex good, but almost, and if I squeeze my eyes shut, I can picture a beach, and when was the last time we went away on vacation, just the two of us?

Two years ago? Or has it been three? I grip the sheets. Fuck. I shouldn’t be thinking about this now, recounting the details of my life, and it makes me wonder if Greg does this too. I make a note to ask him, a reminder that brings me back to the here and now. Until I realize I did ask him once. The memory of him kissing my nose, the way he told me not to be silly. He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t ask for further clarification, but I got the sense that he was telling the truth, and also that he didn’t want the conversation to go any further. Some things need to stay safely in the corners of your mind, married or not.

He shifts his weight, then brings my leg up and pins it in place. My God. I’m going to bet my husband’s fantasies are a lot different than mine—that he doesn’t organize his calendar or draft his dinner menu while he fucks. Not even occasionally. He’s too good for that. Studies show that only ten percent of people let their mind wander during sex, and in this moment I am bummed to be the odd one out. “Greg.” I release the sheets and push against his chest. “We should take a vacation.”

He groans, something inaudible, but he doesn’t slow down. “I don’t mean tomorrow or anything…but sometime in the new